One-Thousand-and-One American Nights

Night #9.

I am drunk as hell, on a piano bench, contemplating 22, wishing I had the discipline to be myself again. I am planning revenge against all the stupid, god-damn demons who took her away; all her laughing, all her charm, all her hands in the air as we made love, away. I carve the word 'egregious' in the wall of my room, and leave.

I am driving, always driving, driving to escape where I'm going. I am throwing stones at heaven from the bluffs near the ocean. (God's omnipotence must be the most boring thing ever if he can't even do one little evil thing like light somebody on fire.) I throw the vodka from the truck, lights flash behind me.

Intermission.

The officer, too, lost someone to an angry guardrail, I find out at the diner later on. That's what pushed them into the service. A ticket for "failure to obey posted speed signs" rests on my dashboard. $135. The eggs are delicious. I have a friend in the law now.

This could be a good thing.